Page 64 of Whispers at The Bookshop Pretty Beach
They clinked glasses and Daisy felt okay-ish and more positive about the matter. She swallowed and thought thatactually although she was uncertain and it could go wrong in a hundred different ways, it could also go so very right. Weighing it all up and with her sisters’ input, she felt that perhaps it was worth giving it a go. Maybe the only way was up.
37
Daisy had been awake since half past five, which was ridiculous because Sunday roast wasn't until the evening and she had done all the prep the night before. There was a lovely piece of beef in the slow cooker, the Yorkshire pudding batter was resting in the fridge, and the vegetables were chopped and ready to go. There was absolutely nothing left for Daisy to do except wait and try not to have a complete meltdown about Miles properly meeting the girls.
She sat at the kitchen table behind the bookshop, nursing her third cup of coffee and staring at her phone. Miles had texted to confirm he was coming, which had made her stomach lurch because it had meant it was really happening. The twins were still asleep, sprawled across their beds in their usual chaotic fashion, and Daisy envied them their ability to sleep through anything, including her current state of complete panic. Not that they had a clue about their dinner guest, but still.
She had the bookshop to open for the day, although Maggie was coming to help out and she’d already set up the table in the kitchen ready for the roast. It looked nice enough with a checked tablecloth and the mismatched chairs, but now she was second-guessing everything, including but not limited to her sanity.Should she have suggested they go to the pub? Was roast at the bookshop too casual, too formal or just plain old too weird?
By eight o'clock, she’d reorganised the spice rack twice and cleaned the already spotless kitchen worktop three times. The smell of the beef was starting to fill the place, rich and comforting, and normally that would have made her feel better. Instead, it just reminded her that there was no backing out.
The twins woke up at quarter past eight, thundering down the narrow stairs from their bedroom to the kitchen like a pair of miniature elephants. They appeared in their pyjamas, hair sticking up all over the place, needing breakfast and complaining about being hungry as if they hadn't eaten a full dinner the night before.
‘Mummy, why does it smell like Christmas?’ Evie asked.
‘Because I'm cooking a roast.’ Daisy replied, automatically reaching for the cereal boxes.
‘Why are you cooking a roast? It's not Sunday dinner time. We normally go to Grandma’s.’ Margot, who didn’t miss a trick, pointed out.
‘Because someone is coming to have it with us and I wanted it to be ready. Which is also why the table is set. You'll have your breakfast in the conservatory and then Grandma is coming to collect you while I work in the shop with Aunty Maggie today.’ Daisy tried to keep her voice casual while she poured cereal into bowls.
‘Who?’ both twins asked at exactly the same time.
‘Miles.’ Daisy concentrated on the bowls and not spilling the milk.
‘Miles from the ice cream?’ Evie asked.
‘Miles, who helped us with the books that day?’ Margot added.
‘Yes, that Miles.’ Daisy confirmed.
The twins looked at each other, had one of their silent twin conversations that involved raised eyebrows and tiny little shrugs, and continued with their cereal as if Miles coming over for roast was the most normal thing in the world. Daisy had been prepared for a whole lot more questions, protests, or at the very least some kind of reaction. She had not been prepared for them to take it completely in their stride, and more strangely, they didn’t seem to be that interested. She looked at them from the corner of her eye as they tucked into their breakfast and didn’t say anything at all.
It didn’t last long, though, and after a couple of minutes where their little brains had clearly computed the information, there were a few questions.
‘Can we show him our room?’ Evie asked through a mouthful of cornflakes.
‘Can we show him the secret bit behind the bookshelf?’ Margot added.
‘We'll see.’
By nine o'clock, the twins were dressed and had been collected by Susannah. Daisy had sliced and parboiled the potatoes and checked that the Yorkshire pudding batter was ready to go. As she pottered around getting ready to open the bookshop for its Sunday opening hours, she couldn’t quite get her head around the occasion that would be taking place later that day in her kitchen.
The problem was that she had no frame of reference. She had never introduced the girls to a boyfriend before because she had neverhada boyfriend before; that, really, was the nuts and bolts of it. There had been a literal odd few dates over the years, awkward coffee meetings that never went anywhere, but nothing serious enough to warrant anything even close to bringing anyone into her home for real. She had no idea what theprotocol was, no idea what was normal, appropriate or indeed even expected. All of it made her shudder and feel sick.
Lots of questions trundled around her brain. What if the girls didn't like him? What if they were rude or difficult or decided to test him? What if he didn't like them? What if he found them too loud or too messy or too much? What if this whole thing was a massive mistake and she was about to ruin the good thing she had with Miles by dragging him into the complicated reality of her day-to-day parenting life?
By half-past nine, when Maggie arrived, Daisy was riddled with self-doubt. Maggie came buzzing through the back door with a smile on her face.
'Morning, panic stations!' Maggie called out, dumping her enormous handbag on the worktop and immediately putting the kettle on. 'Right, what's the crisis? You look like you're about to have some sort of breakdown.'
'I'm fine.'
'You are absolutely not fine. You've got that look on your face that says you're about to either burst into tears or run away to join the circus. Are you stressed about dinner?'
Daisy sighed and rubbed her face. 'I'm having second thoughts about the whole thing.'
'What sort of second thoughts?'
